


Teetering on the Edge

by Lianne



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-17 23:01:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9350069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lianne/pseuds/Lianne
Summary: Originally written in May 2004 for the Wes FicathonFor LJ Name:  voleuseWho: Wes/EthanWhat: A bottle of very, very expensive whiskeyWhere: A posh-looking barWhen: S4How: Mild angst





	

Ethan was enjoying a glass of very mellow eighteen year old scotch whiskey, and not planning on doing anything else with his evening, when *he* walked into the bar, and Ethan sat up a little straighter.

It had been nearly four months since he'd taken his leave of the very insistent hospitality of the American government, and he was only just beginning to feel himself again. 

And now, here he was in the so-called City of Angels -- a name he'd always found amusing for a city so full of sin -- enjoying a quiet evening before he moved on to Sunnydale to look up his old pal, Ripper, again. He needed to... thank the man for his long vacation from the daily grind. And all he'd been looking to do was liven up Rupert's otherwise dull birthday celebration. Certainly, he had not deserved the extreme reaction.

But the boy who just walked in was intriguing enough to distract him from his plans, at least for a little while. Tall with dark hair and blue eyes, and a stubbled beard that went well with the grim expression. The boy glowed like a star to Ethan's inner sight, but a dark star, rich with power that was tinged by darkness. He was not completely dark, but he reeked of pain so deeply embedded that it was probably an old friend by now, assuming he even noticed it anymore. All it would take to push him over, though, was a small nudge.

Ethan couldn't decide which he would prefer to do; give him that nudge or shag him senseless. Perhaps even both. Either way, he wanted to play with the poor boy's mind.

The boy headed over to the bar and waved the bartender over. He didn't seem to be ordering anything, just talking. From the way the bartender was shaking his head, he wasn't inclined to tell the boy what he wanted to hear.

Ethan gestured to the waitress with his drink. "Be a dear and send one of these to the gentleman over there." She followed the direction of his nod, then slipped the bills he offered into her vest pocket. A minute later, a glass was placed in front of the boy. He frowned, and waved it off, but she pointed to Ethan.

Ethan lifted him own glass in a salute, then settled back to wait.

He did not have to wait for long. A moment later, the boy was striding across the open space of the bar to where Ethan sat. He set the glass down on the table with only a fraction of the respect that it deserved. "I don't know you," he said, eyeing Ethan suspiciously.

A British accent. How surprising. And very delightful.

"Indeed," Ethan said with a smirk. "However, I was hoping to change that."

There was a flicker of acknowledgement of his own accent, but no more than that. Ethan was finding the boy more intriguing by the moment.

"You could sit," Ethan suggested when the boy showed no sign of saying anything. He waved to the seat on the opposite side of the table.

"Why should I?" the boy asked, no flirtation in his tone, sadly.

Ethan shrugged expansively. "Because it could be very entertaining? Because that's a fine glass of scotch whiskey and should be savored? Because I'm getting a crick in my neck staring up at you?"

The boy looked to be considering it, and a little to Ethan's surprise, slid into the seat. "Ethan," he said, introducing himself.

There was a moment of consideration, then, "Wesley."

"There. And now that we are no longer strangers, do try the scotch," he said, waving towards the glass. "It's an excellent blend." He picked up his own glass and inhaled the fumes deeply before taking a small sip. A good scotch whiskey was not a gulping drink.

The boy -- Wesley -- did not seem convinced quite yet. Ethan kept his best harmless old queer expression on, waiting for the next move.

The move, when it came, actually surprised him. He'd already noted the boy's potential -- an affinity to magic was obvious to those who knew how to look, was not common, but wasn't completely unheard of -- but the careful probe along his shields said that the boy also had a great deal of practical experience with magic, which *was* unusual.

Ethan countered the probe, just enough to let the boy know not to pry, then send a tiny surge back along the connection. The boy stiffened, and his eyes glazed over. Ethan smirked to himself as he sipped his scotch. The boy might know magic, but he obviously didn't know sex magick, or he would have been able to counter that move. Of course, it *was* intensely pleasurable, Ethan knew from past experience, and his own pants were feeling very constricting when he finally released the boy. That sort of touch was not completely one-sided.

He waited for a moment for the boy to collect his wits, but not long enough for him to completely recover. "I have a room for the night," he said, now that they were both clear on just what he was after.

"What?" the boy said, still sounding slightly dazed.

Ethan chuckled. "I said I have a room. I'm afraid I will be leaving town tomorrow, so I do not have time for a more thorough wining and dining." Then he sobered slightly, putting on a more concerned expression. "And if you'll pardon me for pointing this out, you look like you could use a good romp in the sack, no strings attached."

Wesley snorted. "I'm not exactly living the life of a monk," he said with a baby sneer. Adorable.

"Ah, but that would be all wrapped up in strings, I'm guessing," Ethan said, and was rewarded with an almost imperceptible flinch. The boy needed to learn how to cover his reactions better. "Trust me, there are few things more relaxing than an uncomplicated shag."

He reached out with his magic again and sent the boy another small surge of erotic energy. Most of it splashed up against hastily erected shields, but some of it seeped through. Enough to get a reaction. "And you look like you could do with some relaxing, if I do say so." The third surge was more successfully, and he could see that the boy was wavering.

He was beginning to very much regret that he *wouldn't* have more time to play with the boy. He was such an intoxicating mixture of anger, pain, fear, and exhaustion. Oh, the things he could become with the right sort of encouragement.

Ethan reached across the table and laid his hand on top of Wesley's. He caressed the soft skin lightly with his thumb. "A night of pleasure, and no one need know. Just comfort for two men in need," he said softly, enjoying the way that the boy first tensed, then relaxed at the touch. So sensitive.

"Why should I trust you?"

Ethan shrugged. "No reason at all. But are you telling me that you couldn't stop me if I did have nefarious purposes? I'm not old and frail yet, but you look like you could break me without trying." He smiled. "Would you *like* to break me?"

That brought a flash to the boy's eyes, and Ethan shivered. For a moment he wondered if he had, as they said, bitten off more than he could chew. He pushed that thought aside and concentrated on that itch he needed scratched so badly now that he was aware of it.

"Where?"

Ethan almost crowed in triumph. "The Sheraton down the block. Shall we?"

The boy tossed back the last of his scotch in a single gulp without taking his gaze off of Ethan's face. It wasn't the proper way to drink scotch, but it was oh, so arousing. Ethan finished his own drink with a little more decorum, then stood. He dropped a tip on the table, then headed for the exit. He didn't look back to see if Wesley was following; he could almost feel the heat behind him.

They made it back to his hotel in short order. In this area of town it wasn't cheap, but he'd tapped into backup accounts and investments which had grown while he'd been out of commission, so he was treating himself. In more ways than one.

Wesley followed him silently into the hotel room. Ethan flicked on the lights, then turned towards the boy, only to be slammed up against the wall, a very unexpected knife pressed against his throat. He raised an eyebrow. "Is this really necessary?" he asked.

"You tell me."

In the brighter lights of the hotel room, and from this closer proximity, Ethan could see a scar that crossed the boy's throat. What *had* this boy been doing with his life?

"Well, since all *I'm* interested in is a good shagging, I would say not. But if you're that concerned, you could always... restrain me." Ethan tilted his head back in invitation. he could probably shake the boy off using magic, but he wasn't completely sure. Besides, young Wesley was becoming more intriguing all the time.

Wesley's eyes darkened, and Ethan wondered if perhaps he'd made a mistake. Then Wesley leaned forward and licked the skin of Ethan's neck, right above the blade. Ethan groaned, only to be stopped by the boy's mouth coming down on his, hard.

Oh, yes, this was what he needed. The harsh scrape of the blade against his throat just heightened the thrill of it all.

The blade started moving, and Ethan mentally wrote the shirt off. Ethan beat him to the pants, shucking them as quickly as possible, toeing off his shoes at the same time. Wesley stood back, knife still in hand, and simply *looked* at him.

Ethan let him look. He did not have the body of a twenty-year old model, and his incarceration had left their own marks, but he felt no shame about his body.

He moved past Wesley, and pulled an unopened package of condoms -- bought on a whim -- from his suitcase. He tossed it to the boy, then moved over to the bed, sitting down on the edge, legs spread. "So. Will you stay or go?" he asked. "The choice is yours."

Wesley didn't move, so Ethan started stroking himself lazily. It wasn't what he really wanted, but being watched while he brought himself off was mildly exciting, and he would take what he could get.

"Stop."

Ethan did as he was told, smirking. Wesley slipped his knife back into the wrist sheath that Ethan hadn't noticed earlier. Then he started to strip.

It wasn't intended to tantalize, but it left Ethan panting. Wesley disrobed with quick, efficient moves, right down to the skin.

Nude, it was even more obvious how harsh Wesley's life had been. He had as many scars as Ethan, if not more. The bullet wounds were old, as were the parallel marks that looked like claw wounds. There were also bruises scattered all over his body, ranging from old green shadows to the purple of fresher marks, and Ethan wanted to ask just what the boy did for a living that got him those marks, but he knew that Wesley wouldn't answer. "Are you going to join me?" he asked instead.

Last of all, Wesley set the knife sheath down on the bureau, then moved over to the bed. Ethan reached out and drew him even closer by that most vulnerable part of a man's anatomy. He raised an eyebrow, and took the boy's silence as permission. He leaned forward and took the other man into his mouth.

It had been far too long. Since the night of Ripper's birthday, in fact, since he wasn't going to count those few times with the soldier boys. Brutes. Thankfully, mucking with the cameras had been too difficult for most of *them* to consider it worth the effort.

But the art of fellatio was like riding a bike; you never lost it. Ethan had always enjoyed it, and he knew he was good at it. He assumed that Wesley was enjoying it from the twitches, even though the boy stayed perfectly silent. Unusually callused hands stroked the sides of his face briefly before gripping the back of his head and taking control.

Ethan groaned. The pressure wasn't unpleasant, but Wesley was making it clear who was in charge, and Ethan liked it.

Then, without warning he was shoved backwards. Wesley was panting hard. Ethan leaned back on his elbows and watched as the boy opened the package of condoms and rolled one on. There was a silent nod, and Ethan rolled over and kneeled up on the edge of the bed, legs spread.

He could hear the boy spitting onto his hand, and then he was briskly prepared. It had been so long that Ethan felt a flash of pain from the intrusion. It didn't stop him from pushing back into the first delicious thrust.

Strong fingers dug into his hips, moving him in time to those thrusts. Ethan moaned, and went with it. Amazingly, when he'd gone looking for a bar, a shag had been the last thing on his mind, but bloody hell, he'd needed this.

Wesley moved harder and faster until the pace was almost brutal, but Ethan did not complain. He reached down and started to wank himself in time with the thrusts, but had trouble keeping up. It was all too wonderful to last.

Ethan spent himself all over the nice clean bedspread, and went limp as the boy continued to pump into him in almost complete silence. Then he froze and came with a barely audible sound, almost a sob. Ethan grunted as Wesley's weight collapsed onto his back, but bit back a caustic comment as he felt a warm wetness on the back of his shoulder that had nothing to do with sex. Wesley shuddered, but stayed silent as he cried.

With a tenderness that would have surprised most who claimed to know him, Ethan managed to slide out from under Wesley. The boy shifted, as if he were going to stand, but Ethan stopped him. Instead, he pulled back the covers from under Wesley and manhandled the resistant body of his paramour into the bed where he joined him, disposing of the condom as he did so.

Wesley opened his mouth, but Ethan kissed him silent. "Go to sleep," he ordered, brushing his fingertips through one of the already drying tear tracks. "You can go back to whatever you were doing in the morning. Right now, you look like you could use a good night's sleep."

That got him a tiny smile. "I thought it was a good shag that I needed," the boy said, and Ethan grinned. Ah, he was too pretty, Ethan thought to himself. He wished he could keep the boy.

"A *fantastic* shag, you mean," he said. "And now that you've had it, it's sleep that you need. Followed, if I'm lucky, by another fantastic shag in the morning."

The boy chuckled slightly, but started to shift. "I have things to do. I should not have..."

"Taken a little time for yourself? Ah, sweet boy." Ethan pushed a stray lock of hair back from Wesley's face. "Don't give too much of yourself away. Be a little selfish." Then he whispered a small cantrip under his breath, and Wesley's eyes started to drift shut, a testament to how far his defenses had dropped. Already asleep, he rolled over, and Ethan curled up against his back, enjoying the feeling of being pressed against another body.

He was nearly asleep himself, and for a moment the years seemed to melt away, and instead of this oh-so-damaged boy in his arms, it was Ripper, cool and confident.

And if a tear or two of his own escaped, Wesley was too deeply asleep to notice.

>>>~~~<<<

Ethan woke late the next morning feeling remarkably well-rested. In fact, it was so late that he barely had time to shower, shave, and dress before checkout time.

He wasn't terribly surprised to find himself alone in the bed, though. In fact, the only proof that he hadn't imagined the night before was the ache in his arse and the heavy scent of sex that still hung in the air to scandalize housekeeping when they came. He was a little disappointed not to find so much as a note from young Wesley, but he didn't have time to dwell on it.

At ten on the dot, he was at the front desk handing in his key, paying his bill, and accepting a single, unexpected message.

"Thank you," it said. There was no signature, but then, it wasn't really needed, was it?

For a moment, Ethan felt the urge to track Wesley down and take him with him, but he quickly quashed that feeling It would take too long to find the boy, and suddenly he had the feeling that time was short and he needed to leave town now or never. An hour later, much sooner than he'd originally planned, he was on the road. As he passed the outer limits of the suburbs, he felt as though a great weight had lifted from his shoulders.

Twenty-four hours after that he was sitting in a motel room outside of Sunnydale trying to decide what his plans were. A pall hovered over Sunnydale, and it appeared that half the normally oblivious town had packed up and left, and most of the rest was packing. And when he clicked on the telly, nearly every channel was talking about the inexplicable darkness hovering over Los Angeles. Apparently the sun had refused to rise that morning for just the city.

At that point, Ethan climbed back into his car and started driving east. He would look up Ripper -- and perhaps Wesley as well -- later.

Much later.


End file.
